Theatre
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: During a terrorist attack on Luciel's Midgar theatre, the Turks intervene with guns blazing. Vincent Valentine takes Luciel under his protection, only to find himself wrapped up in Luke's personality. (Unrevised. COMPLETE!)
1. Intrusion

The Theatre

by Darker Angel

Characters belong to their respective owners. The main character in the first person belongs to me... he was just an idea that popped into my head a long time ago. I am not sure if I'll keep this as a single chapter, or post the others. Even so, it's a rather short, depressing thing about a guy who deals with life. This doesn't exactly follow the story line of the game... which is why I'm rather iffy about showing this off. It isn't my best work, but it's a start.

--------------------------------------------

Chapter 1

Maybe it was too much effort for him to understand what I was going through. Or maybe he really didn't care. His ruby red eyes gazed at me, so indifferent and uncaring, that for a moment I hated him passionately. He turned away. I remember his voice distinctly, which was muffled in the small and eternal space of the enclosed room. 

"I don't love you."

I think I fell. It hit me like a bullet. I crumpled under the weight of the truth like a person made of tooth picks. My resolve cracked, and my hate melted into something like - I don't know - despair and overbearing hopelessness. What was it good for now? All the time that had brought us closer and closer together, the whole lot of us, as a family, now amounted to precisely nothing. And whatever anyone else felt about me, hardly truly mattered now, because Vincent Valentine did not love me.

I didn't know the man as well as I thought I did. But whatever the reason, when I was finally sane enough to stand and get myself back to the hotel, Vincent was gone. Nor was he at the hotel. No note. Nothing.

I hate Midgar. It has a tendancy to rain ten times more in this area of the world than anywhere else. I know I'd been there for more time than was my normal lifetime quota, but after all that time I still could not bring myself to love the place. The waifs, the whores, and the young boys that catered to the homo's and bi's that wandered the streets in search for love in all the wrong places.

Boy, had I chosen wrong. 

No. I can't start the story this way. I should probably go back a little farther... back, when I had tasted love's sweetness and savored the comfort it gave me... back before when I loved the world, and loved *him*...

* * * 

KABLAM!

Gunshots flickered like little flashes of lightning in the semi-circular enclosure. The theatre resounded with the screams of running feet and the noise of yelling, heavy male voice, guns blasting away like a bunch of drummers congregating in one big space. The actors, in their brightly colored cloaks and flashy tunics and silky pants, scattered like endangered insects across the stage, fleeing back into the dim-lit hallways, to find shelter in their dressing rooms.

I wasn't as lucky as them, unfortunately. During the melee that suddenly exploded at the back of the theatre, when panic began to fall over the crowd like a fog, I had been ruthlessly shoved aside, and had crashed in between the two front-most rows. And, against my better judgement, I decided to remain crouched there, even people's feet crushed against my fingers, my face, my back and shoulders.

Finally, the cracking of guns dissipated, and all I heard now were the scuffling of careful feet. I could discern as much that they were large, muscular men, deadly, who wore combat boots daily so that they were used to the additional weight to their feet. I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut as I heard a peculiar sharp click of shoes on the ground near my head, with the boots close in tow. 

A gun clicked near my ear. And then a voice.

"No."

A deathly pause, as someone breathed. "What do you mean NO, Valentine? Shoot the motherfucker. He's a witness." 

"He couldn't have seen anything. He's been stuck under there. He can't move. Get him out."

I peered up, whimpering at the shoes. The one with the shoes, obviously Valentine, was having a staring contest with the other man. This went on for several painful seconds, during which I heard other than the sounds of boots the crackle of radios and clicking of guns. Then, in the distance, the occasional gunfire as witnesses were conveniently disposed of.

"Fine," the soldier said. "You take care of him. But he isn't leaving to go home to mom and dad to tell about the happenings here today. You watch him, Valentine. Watch him like a hawk. He isn't leaving my custody until he's properly questioned. THEN he can go home."

The soldier moved away, and the gunman looked down at me, as I struggled to look up. There was an exceedingly painful crick in my neck and I found myself near to crying because it hurt so bad. Hey, I wasn't scared. No, really. But the man reached down, the coldness in his eyes terrified me to my very core. He reached, gripping the collar of my cheap outfit, and yanked my body free of the theatre seats.

He dropped me into one of the chairs, while I rubbed a bruise on my elbow. He looked at me, evenly, the gun casually held at his side trained to my forehead. I could feel it pulsing against my skin, though there wasn't any need for laser sights. 

"I'm not going to run away," I spat angrily, my bravado steadily weakening. "I don't have anywhere to go anyway. So you can point your happy gun somewhere else, asshole."

Unfortunately, he didn't find this very amusing, nor convincing, and he stayed silent. He didn't seem all too interested that I was bleeding from a cut in my forehead, nor that I was still in a great deal of pain. But at this point, to tell you the truth, I was too numb with fear to really feel anything. Despite all of this, I could still find the time to look up at Mr. Valentine, and get to know who the hell I was looking at.

He was tall - nearly 6 feet, if not that - and he has short, slicked back shiny black hair and the most incredible dark eyes I had ever seen. I knew it that they were brown, slightly slanted showing that he probably had some Wutai heritage somewhere down the line, but whatever it was, it had been long forgotten. He wore a clean cut suit, pretty neat, well-taken care of. No doubt, had to be a Turk. A very...sexy, though disturbingly quiet man. 

I probably owed him my life, since he just saved it from being thoughtlessly shot a gazillion times with an assault rifle. But now, as I realized my fate, I had no preconception of just how much shit I was in.

Another man in a suit walked up, though his suit was rather rumbled. I could remember him distinctly later, aside from his wild fiery hair, that he had the most shocking eyes I'd ever seen in a human being. Other than that, I was repelled by his crude speech, though his slurred, relaxed eloquence was rather appealing. "The situation, regardless of the casualties, is pretty damn good. We can take our new boy home with us, so the SOLDIER guys said, and question him."

Yes, I know I seemed a bit young to them. Hell, I was maybe around 19, making my way as an actor. But, my boyish face, my somewhat accidental feminine tendancies seemed to appeal to a crowd of mixed orientations, so I was chosen for the third-most important role in the script of the play. But now, all that hard-earned practicing would not produce hard-earned cash, because the play was interrupted by this little terrorist movement.

The dark-haired Valentine nodded curtly. Then, as his eyes turned toward me I sank back into my chair. But I couldn't escape - he reached down, seized me again wordlessly by the shirt collar and pulled him to his side. I felt like I was about to crumble like a piece of burnt paper. But his powerful grasp prevented me from falling and just disappearing. We went outside, to a car that waited for us. It was a dizzying trip... In the midst of flashing red lights, highways, and stops periodically so I could throw up, I found myself finally deposited in a car next to the silent man to the drive to his apartment. 

I remembered what had happened back at the "station" or whatever they called it. An officer had confronted Valentine, and glared at him full in the face. "You think I'm going to keep his sorry ass here? WRONG! YOU wanted to keep him alive... he stays at your place! Got it? He's your responsibility, not mine! Now, get outta here!"

The drive was a gentle one, thankfully. I managed to steal a look over at Mr. Valentine - my hero, I thought bitterly. He drove calmly, gazing out from the windshield. I thought to myself, *God, he's beautiful.* and then I thought, *This man could snap me in half like a twig.*

He seemed not to notice me. He had put his gun away and for that I was grateful. With all these guns being waved around, you'd think I'd fall faint of a heart-attack should one of them happen to go off on accident. Certainly, I knew that these men were professionals, and that Vincent wouldn't have shot me unless he really meant to. Still.. it was good to see no more the threatening glare of light against the sleek chrome.

He pulled into a friendly looking neighborhood. It was raining, and my poor outfit for the show was torn in so many places it was hard to count them all. I stretched out my long legs, allowing myself to languish in the leathery seat for awhile. At last, as soon as I began to fall asleep, I felt the car stop moving, and the sudden transfer from motion to stillness made my stomach twist uncomfortably. What was once before a more than willing attempt to vomit was no more than just plain painful discomfort; I was wet, I was miserable, and I was in pain.

Valentine shut the car off, and stepped out, walking around. I watched him through dulled eyes as he walked around, and opened the door on my side.

"Get out," he said. 

I shook my head. 

"Get out now, please."

Again, I shook my head, looked up at him, my eyes pleading. Finally, I spoke in a cracked, tearful voice. "I..I can't.... M-My legs h-hurt, I'm sor--" I was cut off short, as he bent suddenly, reached in, grasped me around the shoulders and hauled me out of the car with alarming care. I felt the rain on the back of my neck, and he carried me, kicking the door shut, toward the apartment stairwell.

In silence, he took me into his apartment, which came alive as he flicked on a switch. The living room wasn't too special - it looked like any living room I'd been in, when I was turning tricks on the street before I went into acting. It was neat... y'know, like a well-educated man's living room who had cash.

He deposited me onto the couch, and disappeared promptly into the kitchen. He came out again, this time without the coat. He he'd unbuttoned the first two top-most buttons on his shirt, and he rolled up his sleeves, sitting down across from me on the other chair. I looked back at him, my body involuntarily curling up on the couch against all reasoning, and the last thing I saw was his calm and collected gaze on me, watching me as he was told to do. And then I was out, blessedly, like a light.


	2. Stranger

Author Notes: Look... I know that Vincent PROBABLY wasn't head of the Turks..and I know that much of what happens in this story never did in the game, or it didn't happen in the way that the game described. But I wrote this a long time ago when I was bored and sadly, needed a little Vincent yaoi in my life. So basically this is what came out of it... and here it is for you to read.

----------------

It was very warm and cosy on this strange couch. I heard the sound of someone's singing, dreadfully off-key, and the scent of cologne lingered on me from the night's activities. It was warm, and I felt safe, not alone, and I opened my eyes, smiling. Then--

Pain drummed in my head. I tasted alcohol and man on my tongue, the aftertaste of blind drunken lust. The sensations mingled uncertainly, like atoms of a confused molecule, unsure where to go, where to connect.

"Get outta here, kid, before my old lady comes home. Come on, get up!" The voice dispersed the atoms, casting them to the four winds.

* * * 

It really did feel rather cosy on this couch. But I kept my eyes closed, ignored the scent of coffee that came from the kitchen. I waited, waited to here the voice, crude and cold and uncaring. I felt hot tears, quite unexpected, burning in my eyes. But then, I felt a touch that I certainly did not expect. It was kind this time, not brutal and full of lust without meaning. There was a cool wash cloth pressed to my face, and I turned over.

Finally, I opened my eyes.

Valentine looked down at me and - dare I hope? - a bit of concern drawing lines in his handsome face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I answered softly, sitting up, and blinking in confusion as I found myself nearly stripped naked. I looked at him accusingly. "What happened to my clothes!?" 

"They were filthy, so I took them off and threw them out. That was all."

"That was all!?" I imitated, laughing hysterically. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to wear when they question me? A pink tutu and a little bunny hat?" 

Vincent was not amused. "I have some clothes for you. They might not fit you, but you ought to be thankful after all I've done with you. I could have shot you then and there."

I blanched. Suddenly, I remembered his cold eyes. I took the cloth from my face and twisted it in my hands. "Th..that was you?" 

A nod.

"Well...yeah...I guess I'm pretty thankful..after all, I DID bust my ass for months to get my part down right, to earn myself some decent cash so I could get out of that damn hellhole. But, seems my luck only goes so far." I felt myself get angry again, though I knew it was futile. If I went back to the theatre, I'd have to go back to *that* life... to find that the show was canceled, that all the time I had spent slaving away, acting in the privacy of my rundown little shanty near the outskirts of Midgar--

"You won't have to worry about that," Vincent interrupted. "The company will assure you considerable amount of funding for your time."

"Bull."

"It's true. If they don't, I'll give you my paycheck for this month."

I laughed, sharp and clear in the room. "No way! If you only knew what I used to do--" I cut myself off, laughing, and shaking my head. 

"You don't believe me? You don't think I'm that generous?" Vincent countered, leaning forward. I noticed suddenly he had changed his clothes. Very casual, but with a flare that commanded respect and dignity. "Regardless of what you have done in the past, you don't think I haven't been generous? I let you live... I even let you stay in my apartment.. I'm even willing to give you my clothes. I'm quite sure you're very hungry at this point, though now I doubt if I should bother to feed you. You're an ungrateful bastard, with no respect for his elders."

His words cut me to the quick, and I found myself bowing my head in burning, coal-red shame. I said nothing.

"Now," he leaned forward. "I don't want to have an argument so early in the morning. You want to tell me what your name is, so I can present your case before the questioners?"

"Luke," I whispered, then added after a moment's pause. "Luciel." A weird name... so I figured Luke sounded a lot better than a name a lot of people would have laughed at. Though Luke also sounded a bit drab... a name for some retard street kid who made a living off of shining old pervert's shoes.

"Vincent Valentine," the man answered softly, standing up. He offered his hand to shake mine, and his sudden politeness caught my quite off-guard. Then, gingerly, I reached out, shook his hand. His grasp was quite firm, but he relented once he noticed how delicate my hands seemed to appear. I must have seemed so stupid to him, so incredibly frail. I didn't really blame him. 

"You shouldn't bother with protecting me," I said, pulling my hand free, and tugging the blanket up well over my stomach. "I'm not worth your trouble."

"Why don't you let me decide that?" Vincent replied smoothly, and he left again, disappearing into his bedroom and came out again with clothes. He tossed them at me. "Go down the hall, over there, to the right and change in the bathroom."

I stood up, covering myself with the bundle of donated apparel, and I fled to the bathroom. I had no need to be ashamed, though, because Vincent had turned away and gazed out the window into the smoggy morning, past the rooftops. I could have sworn his face carried some sort of hidden pain, buried deep beneath layers of cold murderlust and lasting sin. 

Then again... with his line of work, he would have been plenty used to it by then.

I picked nervously at the hem of the black turtle-neck, wearing naught but the sneakers last I could afford a pair for myself. I also wore a pair of Vincent's pants. I had managed to attempt to comb my unruly chocolate brown, blonde highlighted hair. Now, I thought, I seemed a bit more like a human being than a colorful freak being dragged around by this dark, frightening man named Vincent.

Buckled neatly in Vincent's leathery car, I once again lavished in the comfort of the vehicle. I laughed, looking over at him. "Boy, I guess they do take care of their employees, though. Tell me, do your tax cuts go to the people or to the numerous useless projects your company starts up?"

Vincent shrugged. "I work. I get my pay. That's how it is."

"Yeah, it's so simple for you people, up top. No, we get to live the shitty life. Why don't you try it for awhile?"

"I have," Vincent said curtly. "But I worked on my own steam, and I got it all the way up here. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

I said nothing, looking away, out the window. His words made me feel inadequate, like now I could never work back up to where I'd gotten before the terrorist attack.

"Any place in particular where you'd like to eat?"

"I don't know. Don't think I've ever been in this part of town."

Vincent nodded, and pulled in finally at one of those cheap little places, y'know, that you'd find all over the world because it was so popular, and it was so stupid because nobody really LIKES the food, but people went there anyway because it was good to represent and support a strong ecomony like Midgar's. But Vincent did not go there. Directly across the street there was another restaurant, a nice Italian one, and Vincent led me there and inside. 

We sat at a table in the back, away from the windows. And Vincent ordered us some spaghetti. 

I never realized how starved I really was until I looked around. The smell of food, spaghetti sauce... it enveloped me and I gazed, licking my lips, at the plate of a man several tables over. He was eating some sort of jumbo shrimp cazone.

And then I had my own plate. Without even a word of thanks, I merely just dug in, while Vincent delicately began to take his time with his own meal.

"You shouldn't eat so fast," he said.

"Whatever," I told him. 

As we walked out back to the car, I blinked, and patted my belly. "God, that was good," I swooned. I sank into the leather seat again, when suddenly a thought hit me. This all seemed very, very wrong, and I felt like a little kid who walked into a witch's house in the middle of the woods and the witch was fattening me up for the pot.

"You're not going to let them kill me, are you?"

"No," Vincent said. "I already told you. I won't let them kill you."

Yeah, I thought. I'm sure. But then again... Finally, I asked, "Why did those terrorists attack the theatre last night?" I climbed back into the door, which Vincent had opened for me and I climbed in. I felt his chilling gaze as he walked around the front of the car, and got in himself. He rested his hands against the steering wheel, and he didn't start the car.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you. But I can tell you this: you can expect a trial within the month, but between then and now, you can be assured that you will not so much as leave my sight."

I had no problems with that. As I looked at him again, I took full notice of his face, the shadows, and the deep mystery that surrounded him. He didn't seem so much as scary now, but downright sexy. As I noticed the deep shadows of his face, the mystery that pervaded in his presence, as though he had some deep secret to hide, I found myself... more or less intrigued.

"It's almost like we're dating," I grinned lustily. "That we have to be stuck together, non-stop... like we're deeply, madly in love." What a retarded thing to say.

"But, of course, we're not," Vincent said evenly. And I knew he really couldn't take a joke. But, I tried to pretend that a saw a small smile on his face. It could have been real, you know? What's the matter with hoping?

"I was only joking," I answered him. "But...yeah.. I guess I didn't tell you... I'm gay."

"I noticed."

"You don't care?"

"People must be what they have to be. I don't feel at all uncomfortable. I'm just going to tell you, straight out, that I don't swing that way. Besides... I'm not allowed to get attached to... To..." 

"People?"

"People."

"Your job forbid it or you're just as anti-social as you make yourself out to be?" I couldn't help ask him these questions. I wanted to get to know him... even if he claimed to be straight, I still couldn't help but try to get him to like me, even remotely. I think I felt that he was nice to me because he was a natural gentleman, and by his own beliefs was obligated to be kind. Back then, in my world, I did not believe people were nice just for the sake of being nice. They were nice because one, they wanted something, or two, someone bribed them to. I know, that's a pretty sad way to view life, but that's how I was.

Whatever the case was, Vincent turned his alluring gaze to me, with some amusement. "You ask a lot of questions... now, I don't know who I am worried about more: you, or the other Turks."

"Turks..? Ah..Uh..Turks? Are questioning me?" 

"Some of them aren't as bad as I am, believe me."

"No! It's not that... I've met a Turk before. He was drunk off his ass and was bragging about murdering something or other. He and his friends were. They were monsters!" I spluttered, leaning forward, turning to look at him fearfully. I noticed that he'd flinched as though injured from the word 'monster.' "And THEY'RE the ones to question me!?"

"Yes... And the 2nd Lieutenant of the Shinra Army... and the head of the Turks."

"And...that would be...?"

"Me."

"Oh." I felt a little dumb now, but my brow furrowed as I swept my shoulder-length hair out of my face. "But you can't be leader. That's almost laughable. You're too.. too.... ahh... Too much of a gentleman." I changed subjects abrubtly. "You mean to tell me you don't even have a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Ever *had* a girlfriend?"

"No."

Luciel, I thought. I think we'd better stop asking the poor man questions. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and sighed. I felt disappointed, though determined. This would be a perfect challenge... I'd try every wile I could to get him into my bed, if I could, because he was irresistible. Make no mistake; Vincent Valentine was the most gorgeous man with black hair and deep, deep eyes I'd ever seen. Despite all the shit that went down in the past 48 hours, I was willing to throw in one last adventure before I died. 

I had nothing to lose, right?


	3. The Art of Lying

* * * Chapter 3 * * * 

I sat alone in the pub, drinking shot after shot like they were liquid candy in a small little cup. Finally, drunk as I was, I considered it imperatively wise to weigh the pros and cons of my committing the suicide that was initiated from by Vincent's rejection. It was a few good hours since he'd said the fateful words. Nothing really came to my attention at that moment as I turned over and over the possibility of peace in death. I remembered how childish my reasons were for wanting Vincent... merely because he looked good. And because he was the only one, I knew, that was kind to me despite everything that had come between himself and I.

I dropped my head onto my arms and smiled, my mind merely wandering where it should. This story was too long to simply make my decision now.

I closed my eyes.

I remembered.

* * * 

After a great careful observation, I began to realize that Vincent Valentine was a man who thrived of spontaneity. Nothing surprised him, it seemed. A mugger had tried to slit his throat for his cash, for example, while we were walking to the store. He had reacted with such poise and killer's instinct to turn around and neatly snatch the knife out of the killer's hand, and turn the knife on him.

Or the fact that, no matter what sort of questions I asked him, he seemed to regurgitate answers seemingly out of the blue with nothing less than the morose, avoiding darkness that I was familiar with. By the end of such answers, I knew more and yet even less than before I'd asked.

There was nothing I could do to spark his interest. It drove me mad, but it was incredibly magnetic that he could infuriate me so much. I could tell since I began to feel things for him that he was going to be a difficult shell to crack. Pleasant challenge, I would imagine. Boy, would I be wrong.

On the seventh day of my stay with him, I began to watch him carefully, make note of what he was doing, what he wasn't doing. He never did care much for television - the one that sat on the wall along with the video cassette player was ages old, but would probably have worked perfectly. He did, however, enjoy reading. So much, in fact, that whenever he wasn't working and I wasn't locked in his apartment, that I often found him sitting, curled up in his favorite chair with his nose in a book. Finally, I tossed aside my dislike for reading long enough to go to his bookshelf in the afternoon, and peruse his collection.

I became immediately familiar with the word "poetry", and phrases like, "The Poetry of" or "collection of writings by". Other such books, which weren't poetry, were biographies. What fiction there was, were mostly depressing books, or books about angst and love and such. 

"Mr. Valentine," I murmured, stepping back from the shelf. "I believe I've fallen in love with you. But why... why are you so sad?" I reached out, and took a book from the shelf, and began to flip through it. The poems were heart-breaking, and I blinked, in a trance as I stepped backwards and collapsed into a chair.

I don't know how long I sat there and read, but I bookmarked a certain page for memorization later. Then, I heard the door, and I jumped up, ran to the shelf, and just shoved the book into whatever space was available. When I turned around, Vincent had just come out of the little hallway. 

"I know I've asked you this before," I began, putting up my Asshole mode for awhile. "But what the hell is that you do everyday?"

"I go out." The man seemed tired. In particular, he also seemed troubled. I withheld any crude comments concerning his inability to inform of the events of his day. Instead I just watched him walk over to a chair and sink down into it. I set the book silently back into its place.

I stepped behind him, resting my hands very lightly on his shoulders, and began to knead, my breath hitching slightly. "You work. And too hard. Christ, don't you _ever_ relax? Here, take your coat off."

His body tensed as I said this, but he did eventually lean forward, and free himself of the coat that he wore. He leaned back, and once again I fell with great joy to the task of massaging this lovely man. I'd never gotten this close to him before... I leaned down, and smiled, breathing in very lightly the scent of cologne, Vincent's trademark. It turned me on completely. God, he smelled so good...

"You've been going through my books," he said suddenly, and stood up. I staggered back, looking up at him - Yes, I'm a rather short guy - and he walked toward the bookshelf, taking out the book I replaced. _How could he have seen the difference?_ I thought.

He turned, arched a brow at me. He almost smiled. "Well? Have you?"

"Y..Yeah," I replied, looking down. "Just... didn't.... well... I was wondering what k-kind of..stuff..." I was a little bit terrified, that I'd make a big mistake by reading his books, but instead he just shook his head, and smiled sadly. He placed the book on the edge of the shelf, walked over to me as I stammered; then he took my chin gently in one hand, forced my gaze upward again. "...you like to read." I was positively quaking.

He seemed as if to speak, but thought the better of it, and dropped his hand. I kept my head up, proudly, looking right at him. For some reason, my naive mind imagined that he might at any moment randomly clasp face and clamp his mouth over my own. 

But he did not.

Abrubtly, the phone rang. Vincent frowned, turned, and answered it, speaking in a low confidential voice. Then he hung up, slowly, his eyes hardening as I had see them do back in the theatre, when he had taken the duty of guarding me till everyone was cleared out.

"There's been another terrorist attack," Vincent informed me. I expected him to leave immediately, but he walked toward me, and reached into his jacket in the chair, and produced a pistol. He handed it to me. "You have to come with me this time. Do you know how to use one of these?"

"..y...No... not...really."

"I'll show you how when we get there. Just take it." He picked up his jacket, and my eyes wandered to the holster near his hip, containing the gun he'd nearly used against me that night.

I was already dressed. I pulled on my own, brand new shoes, and staggered after him with the gun held limply in hand, for fear any suspicious grips might accidently set it off.

* * * 

I didn't ask why I had to come with him. He only said that the attack was up top on the plate, where a certain power plant was in use. Such an amateur attack was easy for the Turks to take care of, but the company had told Vincent they wanted to bring the boy along with him to see if he was part of this untrained group, if the boy was willing to shoot any enemy of ShinRa.

Of course, I didn't know that last tidbit until later on.

As soon as we stopped, I climbed out, my heart in my throat again as I chased after Vincent's fleeting form, frantic to not let him out of my sight. This was a fairly difficult task indeed - he shot in and out of my sight like a shadow, moving with wolf-like ease, prowling with the speed and sureness of a predator eons old. Also, to make matters more difficult, there were pipes and things everywhere, and after such a semi-long drive I'd been a little stiff in the car. 

The largeness of the space echoed with the sounds of gunshots, metal against metal, and I had to realize that there was fighting going on, and Vincent Valentine was dragging me into the midst of it. I didn't dare try to run away, lest this was some kind of test. If I had to kill to save my own ass... I guess that's what I had to do.

Guts wrenching, I dropped next to Vincent behind a large chunk of metal. A bullet zinged past, clipping my ear. I cried out.

"Christ! I can't do this!"

Vincent ignored my cries. Instead, he reached, grabbed my arm and took the gun from my hand and gave me a quick instruction on how to kill a man. When he'd explained twice, I took the gun again, and held it shaking in my hands. I pulled the hammer back and peered around the corner of the metal barricade.

There were about two dozen people stationed by the entrance to the plant. For the most part they were a nasty, unshaven lot who could have passed easily for pirates on the open sea. Soldiers rushed past, firing, and I ducked back again.

Vincent stood up. I cried out his name but there was nothing heard of it over the noise of battle. He disappeared from my sight in that same instant, and I turned, watching him, as other Turks suddenly appeared at his side.

This is what he does? I thought. _Kill terrorists, day in, day out?_

I watched him, sliding out some as I grasped the gun. Nobody payed me any attention. I was dressed like a Turk, I suppose, so they probably thought I knew what I was doing. Vincent fought like a beast, blowing the head off of one terrorist, and then turning around, jamming his elbow brutally into the face of another. It was chaos down there, and I couldn't find any one target to shoot at.

A motion above caught my eye. There was another terrorist, hanging above them from a pipe on some rope. He was dressed in black, like some sort of ninja. He looked nothing like the other terrorists below. He held something shiny in his hand--

"NO!" I took aim. And fired nearly a dozen times, my bullets straying wildly around the struggling pair. The masked attacker dodged, moving, looked for me as he grasped the shiny thing in his hand. 

I ran across the catwalk, abandoning my post as I charged forward. The ninja unhooked himself from the rope, and plumeted downwards toward Vincent. I stopped long enough to lift my arm and pull the trigger just as Vincent crumbled, struggled to get this new nuisance off of his back. The attacker jerked, struck by the bullet, and dropped the knife and promptly collapsed, falling off of Vincent's back like a sack of potatoes.

After that, everything was soon under control. I found myself a nice little niche to squeeze myself into, while everyone else was busy cleaning up. There, in my solitude, I clasped the gun to my chest, and put off vomiting until I could get control of myself.


	4. The Play

* * * Chapter 4 * * * 

The surrealistic ride back to Vincent's apartment nearly blew over my head unnoticed. Vincent had taken back the gun. Perhaps he was a little sad, because I saw that he did not seem as... dare I say, friendly as usual. His lips were set in a grim line, and I wished desperately just once to see them smile. 

As he climbed out of the car in the parking lot, he paused once, frowning as he saw that I didn't move a muscle. 

"Thank you," he said. "For saving my life." It didn't help.

He waited, leaning against the hood of the car until I dragged myself out of my seat, and stood beside him. We, together, the two of us, didn't say anything at all for a long, long while. I wanted to ask him why he'd brought me out there...but I figured, hell... the man'll tell me in his own time. 

Touching my arm, he brought me out of my quirky daze. I turned myself around so he could look at me. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked, a frown of concern touching the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I snapped, hugging my jacket tighter around me as though it would hide the strange pain in my chest. "Just a little hungry, that's all." But in all reality, the last thing I wanted in front of me was an oozing burger and a plate of frenchfries, gushing ketchup.

Vincent gave me a steady stare. I shrank slightly underneath it, and looked around. Then he spoke. "Alright... if you want, we'll go out and have some salad or something. But you look a bit sick... so if you don't want to eat, then just take it easy..."

God bless Vincent. He always knows what to say.

I think I loved him even more after that. And more when he took hold of my arm, squeezing it reassuringly. My body warmed instantly and for a few seconds, I smiled back at him. "Don't worry. Just forget about it. I just... I just need a drink, I think. Yeah. Do you have anything remotely alcoholic?"

"Yes, of course. Only the best."

All the way up the stairs, I thought of the poem in the book. I remembered it, and tears came to my eyes. 

* * * 

The pub was almost empty. I knew, I _knew _so surely at that time that there was a human being underneath that coldness, a human being that needed love, that needed me. Through his subtle exhibitions of kindness, I saw the man beneath, aching to have that kindness returned. But still I wasn't sure. I tried hard for the next couple of days to let him know I was trying to be his friend...

I wasn't so sure yet if I wanted to kill myself. All I could do now is doze off the buzz and dream...

* * * 

"Luke," Vincent said. 

We were in the men's room of a dance club, and I was washing my hands. Vincent didn't seem to mind being in the same bathroom with me (it was a public bathroom, so I don't think it counted). But I turned, glancing over, only seeing the wall of his back, shrouded in the crisp black and white suit he wore. Music throbbed beyond the walls, and I was reluctant to go back out and brave the maelstrom of noise and flashy lights and people.

"Yes?" 

"What did you think of that man that was sitting in the corner across the room?"

"...what?"

Vincent finished his business, came to the sink and washed and rinsed his hands as he spoke. "I think now's a good time to get to know each other..."

"Vincent," I smirked. "Are you coming on to me?"

He cast me a look, and I flinched, expecting him to give me that freaky stare again. Finally, he chose wisely to ignore the remark and spoke in a relatively calm and composed manner. "No. I merely wanted to know your background." He looked suddenly sad, and he bowed his head, drying his hands off with a paper towel from the dispenser. "I've been... somewhat rude to you for the past couple of days and I wanted to talk to you. Not as a personal guard to the refugee but... you know, person to person."

"What?" I stopped, dropping my soapy wet hands to my sides from the think. I couldn't help but smile. "What do you want to talk about then?"

"Let's go outside," the man responded as he tossed the towel into the garbage pail as though he were delivering a snowflake into the air. Then he motioned to the door that led to the alley beyond. We exited through it.

It was pretty chilly, considering it was nearly the end of November. I shuddered, teeth chattering, looking to Vincent expectantly. The cold did not seem to bother him. Once again I envied his ability to become impervious to the outside world.

We walked side-by-side, toward his car where he climbed in and turned the engine on merely to get it warm inside. I sat in my usual spot next to him, and I put my hands against the heater vents. 

"You're warm?"

"Yeah, in a little bit," I answered softly, closing my eyes, and curling up.

"Tell me about you."

"Well... I don't have any parents. They were gone before I could really know them. I grew up with people... I hated them. So I left. I couldn't get a job... So I worked for this guy for awhile. I was a ... a prostitute... for awhile... only way I could get payed but it was okay..." I began to trail off toward the end. "It's okay if you think that's disgusting..."

"No," Vincent said abrubtly. "I don't think that about people. You had to do what you needed to do. It wasn't your fault. It's ShinRa that keeps people from having any decent jobs. There's no shame in what you did. If the weak cannot become strong, they do what they must."

"So you're saying I'm ... weak?"

"No. It's just a ... a figure of speech."

He was right. I shouldn't really be that ashamed. I just... really wanted him to like me. But I told the truth, and that made me feel pretty good. I took a breath and grinned to myself. We gazed out the windshield at the theatre. Then my breath caught in my throat and I took a steadying sigh. My play was there... "Loveless" stood broadly over the entrance of the old-fashioned theatre. It's flashing name burned into my eyes and I looked down. Swallowed. "You ever watch plays, Vincent?"

"Yes... sometimes. I've read a few, also."

"Have you ever seen Loveless?"

"I've heard of it. It's right on the next block in front of us, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I responded, relaxing slightly, though I still felt sickened by the familiarity of the theatre. It seemed millions of years ago. I both hated and hungered for the spotlight again. "That was my play... before, you know--"

"Yes." Vincent arched a brow at me. "Tell me, what was it about? Who did you play?"

I took a breath, and recalled the general story of the play. It came back to me slowly, the calm deep voice of my fellow actor breathing through my memory like a calm warm breeze. I recalled it, and I repeated it to Vincent. He seemed to look at me as though I were dazed, but he listened attentively. 

"There's only a handful of characters. There's Leesil, the main character. He's a hero type of unknown origins. He is destined to pursue an ancient artifact from the gods, said to be protected by a dragon called Fagner... but what Leesil doesn't know is the dragon can only be controlled by a beautiful woman. She's Ariel, the spirit of the Dead who dwells in the realm between the land of the living and the land of the dead.

"Anyway, he's sort of like... has a few small adventures that lead up to him finding the cave to Fagner's lair. Blah, blah, blah... they fall in love... but she's bound in the end by her obligation to the god of the underworld, Heschel."

I paused, wetting my lips. I was pretty much done. There wasn't much to the story except it was a cute little fairy-tale. The kind of story kids would have read about, after being 'screened' and having the teeth pulled out of the story for appopriate learning.

By the end of my explanation, Vincent's eyes had changed very imperceptibly. I noticed that he gripped the steering wheel for dear life though we weren't going anywhere. Afraid, I looked over at him, and blinked the bleariness out of my eyes. He looked back at me. Then I said quietly, "I was supposed to play Leesil... but we never got to do the play anyway. The one you saw was a different play." It was tear-jerking retarded, but hey, they payed me. I was willing to act like a jackass in front of people. Ones who are humble get paid more, they say.

Vincent nodded, his hands slowly letting go of the steering wheel. Impulsively, I reached out, and very gently took one of his hands. He did not resist - he allowed me to touch him. I wanted desperately to know why he had such a terribly pained look on his face. I pulled on his hand, and slid over the seat a bit, pressing my cheek against his collar. At this point, I was nearly sitting in his lap now. My heart had started pounding, but I was sure he couldn't hear it. I grasped his hand in both of mine, and closed my eyes.

Vincent stiffened. I could tell he was uncomfortable, but I felt he needed to just stop with the emotional constipation and speak up. I whispered harshly. "Come on...you've got to tell me. I swear to you, I wouldn't do anything wrong to you."

"Not purposefully."

I shook myself, and quieted as he held still. I proceeded to gently massage his arm, as he had massaged mine in the parking lot. Fear. I was afraid to look at his face, but kept my eyes solidly locked onto my hand, kneading his arm very lightly.

His voice was just above my hear when he spoke after a long pause. "Thank you...Luciel."

* * * *

Sad, how I could bring myself inches from the truth, yet murmur my silent lie with a friendly pat and a subtle sliding away again once I was sure he was alright.

That night we'd returned to our -- his -- apartment, where he sat down in his couch to read as was customary. But instead of taking his book, he turned to look at me as I slipped my shoes off and left them beside the door next to his. 

"Luciel," he said quietly.

"Yes...Vincent?" My heart was hammering away like a drug addict on a serious upper. I watched carefully, but all I saw was the back of his head again.

"Come sit by me. I think I should like to talk to you."

-------------------

(Darker Angel): Alright. This is the last chapter of total make-over. From chapter 5 on will be on-the-gun, off-my-scalp writing. I'll be scraping my brain for good writing material but it probably won't happen until weekend-time returns... so... tell me what you think? And thank you for your review, Losselen!!!


	5. Deep Eyes

**Author's Notes**: Sure... this story isn't my main one, but I had to keep writing in it... the images won't leave my head... so, those of you waiting for the next chapter in Fear Not will have to wait.

I hope I expressed Vincent's personality as I thought it might be before he was 'changed' by Hojo... and I had Luciel sort of share the same traits, only so they might have some common ground.

----------

Vincent made me feel strangely privileged to hear his story. About his love for Lucrecia, about his Turk business. Yet hearing of his affair with Lucrecia was a torment, because his eyes filled with light and pain all at once, chased down by darkness with guilt. Only someone profoundly dear to a man could make a man's eyes do that. Vincent's eyes did this. For Lucrecia, and for Lucrecia alone.

My eyes watered toward the end of his tale. For some reason, I didn't know what to say. There were long minutes of silence before Vincent spoke again.

"Luciel," he said softly, leaning forward to touch my face. I wanted to shy away, but I felt compelled to hold still. "Why are you crying?"

"I-I don't know... I'm just.. a sucker for sappy stories... I mean, not to... demean what happened to you--"

"It's alright. I know what you mean. My tragedy is attractive to you. You are an artist, and you are entitled to your feelings, Luciel. Don't be sorry for them."

Once again, I opened my mouth to speak but, naturally, my creativity failed me as did my mouth muscles. So I closed it instead, the muscles rising with amazing ease into a smile. "Vincent... you're an artist, too... a murderer doesn't read poems and ancient dramas by dead playwrights who probably lived too long ago to even matter. But they do matter... and that's what we have in common, I guess...

"I should have been born in a time when there were chocobo-drawn carriages bearing kings and princes to distant kingdoms. But that's just... nonsense. Do you feel like that sometimes...?"

Vincent crossed one leg over the other in the manner I'd gotten used to when I have asked him a good question. He nodded slowly, his eyes fixating on a distant star beyond the city lights, making me wonder just what he thought sometimes about his own life. Did he think it was worthless? Was it terrible?

"Life seems too complex to think about but too irresistible to discuss. I have a theory that even if I was born where swords instead of guns were used, I still would have been some type of assassin at some point or another... circumstances rarely changes. If I had been born, as you said, in a time where it probably wouldn't matter, perhaps we would have still become somewhat as we are now."

"Hunh...that's a scary thought... maybe I would've been a bard instead of an actor. What's the medieval equivelent of a prostitute?" 

"Brothel boy, perhaps," Vincent supplied with what I realized was a teasing smirk. My heart nearly lurched into my throat and I had to restrain myself to keep from jumping up and down and crowing my joy.

"And you," I chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "You would've come and rescued me from being forced to sing retarded songs that nobody likes... for a cruel, dumb lord of manor."

"And travel together, you lulling the dragons while I cut off their heads--"

"--And celebrating by getting roaring drunk in a tavern. And falling madly in--" _Slow down, partner. _I took a breath and laughed, shaking my head. My lie felt like a straight-jacket, limiting me to what I truly wanted to say. I felt I couldn't... say what I thought could happen. Because here, it wouldn't, and to dream about it was to be foolish.

That's what dreams were.

Foolish.

Vincent looked at me, and our little moment of laughter vanished. Like a pleasant buzz in a sunlit backyard lawnchair after a beer or two, it was gone in a jarring instant of realization. With dawning despair I felt my life twisting itself around my little lie. I was trapped.

"Luciel--" His expression was a torment to behold. I concentrated on his shirt instead, absorbing the finer details of it. If he let himself look past it, into where I knew he couldn't possibly go without promise of shame and guilt, I'd never forgive myself. 

"Don't," I said finally. "It just slipped. It's just habit."

The gunman lowered his gaze, before turning his head from me, gazing past the city lights again toward the blackness of the sky. I squirmed in my chair, biting a fingernail.

A knock at the door made me almost jump out of my skin. I ended up biting the tip of my finger and cry out in grumbling agitation. "Don't answer it," I whispered, but he was already standing and turning toward the door.

The dim street lights did not mask the shadow that suddenly broke the glossy perfection of the bay windows in the living room. The curtains tore with a grating sound that seemed louder than the glass. Time slowed down when the figure, dressed in black, rolled to a crouch beside the coffee stand. The same instant, as though my world was a movie and it had been edited. 

I couldn't remember how I came to end up on the floor. But my senses burned with alertness. I could hear the sound of the city below, car horns blaring, people shouting, the sound of bits of broken glass falling onto the carpet. Vincent crushed me to him, bent over me protectively behind the couch. His hand clutched my own as tightly as I ever clung to him in times of terrorism. His gaze fell easily like a warm ocean breeze, sweet and sad and deep. 

His face bent close to mine and he whispered in a wavering manner, "Stay put. Don't move from this spot."

He released my hand, his body passing over me as he crept along the floor, reaching behind his back to grip a pistol I hadn't even noticed before. I sat up slowly, curling up against the back of the overturned chair, straining to hear what was going on. Silence, except for the sounds from outside and the dripping of the sink.

Gunshots cracked through the compromised shell of safety I had felt so keenly in the apartment. Several of them, in swift order, fired back and forth. I ducked my head, covering my ears until the cracks of thunder stopped altogether. I saw spots in front of my eyes. The only thunder remaining was of my heart pounding. 

I peeked around the couch. My concern for Vincent mounted, putting aside my feelings although they drove me to look, to make sure he was alright.

Vincent pinned the intruder, sitting on top of his back with the other man's gun cast aside. I saw the man writhing slightly, a pool of blood leaking out from underneath him, staining Vincent's perfect carpet.

"He's not a terrorist," Vincent said, knowing I was listening. "He's from Shinra."

The man lurched one final time, failed to dislodge Vincent. "Which means--"

"There's more?" I croaked. "V-Vincent, we... we need to _leave!! _Y-You can't stay here... why are they after you anyway? That's--"

"Quiet." Vincent stood up, staring down at the man. "He's dead. But there will be more. I knew... I knew this would happen."

I came up beside him, touching his arm. "Th-Then we'd better leave... What will happen if they find you? Is it because of... her?" 

Vincent did not respond. Instead he bent, casually turning the corpse over onto its back and ridding the assassin of the second pistol secured in a holster at his side, including four clips in a compartment adjacent to it. He secured them to his own self, grabbed his jacket and keys. I stumbled after him, shoving my feet into my sneakers as he headed toward the stairs.

That's right. If there are more of those guys, they'd try to kill us by cutting the elevator wires.

Gunfire met us almost immediately. Vincent jerked back, throwing his arm to push me back against the wall, returning fire and slowly migrating backwards. "Run closely behind me," he ordered. "As close as you can. Trust me... I'll get you out of here safely."

I nodded, clinging to his arm. Suddenly I wanted to cry. I bit my lip to keep from crying, gutting out my fear and my apprehension. My heart crashed against my ribcage where I thought maybe a ravenous beast ought to be living for all the fury it showed.

And down we ran. The furious bullets zinged, pinged off of the walls while I followed Vincent, the brave warrior, stoic and cold and merciless as his bullets met nearly every single one of their marks, bringing one after another wayward soul to the Planet's spirit count.


	6. Surreal Dawn

Vincent swooped down the stairs, jumping and often skipping several steps as he dashed down, taking the floors down and ridding each flight of stairs of their potential threats. We encountered no one except the ShinRa on our journey until we reached the first floor and charged outside into the parking lot.

Here, I found my voice to speak, panting breathlessly. "Where...?" I threw myself against the passenger side of the car as Vincent ran past. He stopped only once to snap at me, "NO. We'll steal a car."

"What!?" I limped after him, and caught him when he had the driver of a gray pick-up truck staring down the barrel of his pistol. He hurried about to the driver's side, yanked the door open and pulled the driver out, dumping him onto the blacktop. I scrambled into the cab, finding the seatbelt and jamming it tightly into place just as Vincent gunned it, and squeeled down the street.

Time passed quickly. Vincent took several turns onto backstreets which it seemed only he knew. Eventually, in the darkness pierced only by a single ray of dawn light, Vincent pulled into a vacant, sheltered parking lot and stood it in the shadows behind a board wall.

The engine rattled like a tired beast as he keyed the ignition. The truck was quiet, ticking occasionally as the heat dissipated. 

My body resumed its incessant quaking. I leaned toward him, shaking my head slightly. Then dumbly realized my seatbelt was still buckled. I undid it, grumbling, before I slunk up against his side.

This he did not mind. That's what disturbed me about Vincent. I could do whatever I wanted, but he never seemed to mind. And he never attempted anything of his own volition. I was in no position to comment. I was warm now. And his arm went around me, understanding that we ought to keep warm.

"We'll stay here... get some rest, Luciel. I'll stay awake." 

"I won't be able to sleep, Vincent. You know that."

Vincent said nothing. He watched me, I'm sure, while I nuzzled my face into his jacket. His heart was still pounding, or maybe it always pounded like that. The living room was literally miles away now, but I felt unable to resist closeness with him. In the strengthening light, Vincent appeared solemn and morose, his pale face drawn in lines of sorrow, thought, and indecisiveness.

With notable care, I stroked his hand, speaking softly. "It's alright, man." I breathe out slowly, trying to hide my excitement. The chill that crept into the truck forced me closer, closer to him that is. Then he moved slightly, turning toward me and kissing my forehead.

"What did you mean?" Vincent asked bluntly. "When you were talking to me in the apartment..."

"I meant every word I said," I replied, wearily. My lie felt like sand, didn't hold any more substance than a melting, bitter cube of old sugar. "About being around you. With you. I'm tired of hiding--"

"Luke," the man interrupted firmly. He took my jaw in his hand lightly, turning my face upwards. My body quaked again, this time savagely, so that his grip slipped loose for a second, but readjusted properly. I quivered, fearful and alarmed, when his lips caressed my brow again, painstaking and careful. 

What did he mean? _Stupid_, I said to myself privately. _Act. Do something. _But actions failed me, as did words. Besides, Vincent understood the silent language well enough. But my fear clutched, urging me to shrink away slightly. It was perhaps my undoing, for he moved away from me, sitting back behind the steering wheel and resting his arms across it.

His eyes closed slightly, taking a breath. "It's pointless to hide from me. Each human being lies somehow every day in their lives. They lie to feel safe. No one takes risks... But you don't need to lie to me. Least of all about your feelings about me. Do you think I can't see into your small jests?"

"But you don't want to," I pointed out. "You avoid it every time... then when you try to tell me something... you always get interrupted or you chicken out." 

The sunlight made his black, bristling hair shine. He breathed out slowly, vapor clouding up against the windshield. "I can't love anyone..."

"Why not?"

"You wouldn't understand..."

"Uh," I chewed the course words I felt roiling, straining to reach the air. "Excuse me. You explained it to me. You told me your story, about Lucrecia and what's happened... that's the whole reason we're out here! But you can't go on blaming yourself for something she decided on her own! If you love her, you'll--"

"--move on." Vincent leaned back, his face twisted with anger as he stared through the windshield, squeezing at the steering wheel with his left hand. "But _I couldn't protect her!! _Do you think I can just forget? How much she meant to me? And you fail to acknowledge the fact that every waking moment, her face haunts me, remind me she has sold her soul to ShinRa and science to contribute to their wretched energy uses!" 

"You couldn't have stopped her," I whispered to him, reaching to grab his arm. It felt icy cold to the touch. "She was prepared to accept the risks. Whatever ShinRa's intentions are are none of your business. There's nothing you can do!"

Vincent refused to speak. I saw his jaw working, heard a faint popping as he cracked the joint a few times. Somehow I felt a palpable, inescapable regret and self-loathing work its way into my heart where it nested and festered. How selfish I am! Suddenly he was talking to me about my feelings, then it eventually spun in 180 degree angle about his problems.

"I love you," I said quietly, turning away from him with a sudden scowl and burning eyes. "Okay? Are you happy? You're the best fucking thing that's happened in my life, and quite possibly the last person I'm ever going to have feelings for at all. After this, one of us is going to die. I thought maybe I could make you happy, but there isn't a goddamned thing on this earth gonna make you ever feel joyful again. It's certainly not _me_."

The gunman made no outward comment. He straightened after a moment, if only to roll up his window, and finally turn the engine on to adjust the heat. 

"I wish I hadn't met you," I mumbled, pressing my head against the glass of my window. I stared outside at the frost-stricken asphalt, trying hard not to make my upset tears too well-known. 

A touch at my arm jerked my head upright. His face loomed slightly above mine, little struggle was made as his mouth made its soft mark against my cheek where my tears had dripped. I pushed against him at once again, although inside of me there welled a great breaking resolve that convinced me my struggling would be all in vain. 

Vincent Valentine pulled me away from the window and together we sat near the heating vents, his arms around me. And I, wishing always, that I could feel some warmth from his body returned.

After a minute, I kissed him instead. He returned it solemnly, the pain ever evident, drawing beautiful lines against his face. He seemed to me too old to be in such agony, but too young in body to actually resist. His lips were as sensuous and practiced in kissing as I dreamed they were. My teeth gently captured his upper lip, then parted when his tongue came, earnest but careful, into my mouth. 

The contact sparked a flood of reactions from either of us. I knew what I felt - instantaneous white-hot desire, worming its way, warming my loins and face as I suckled on his silk smooth honey-flavored flesh vigorously, realizing its effects as Vincent strove suddenly to drive it deeper. My hands reached up, raking through his hair of their own accord, stopping at his neck and kneading.

My whole body lurched when I felt something cold on my stomach. I gasped slightly, pulling out of the kiss to see what the hell was going on. His fingers circled around my navel, stopping when he watched. 

"Cold!" I whined, pushing at the hand, but it wouldn't go. I writhed. He caressed. It drove me mad.

After awhile he did stop. He held onto me as I sprawled in his lap, his back turned against the side of his door and one leg stretched out across the cab seat. Me? I lay over the leg partially, straddling his thigh and quite positively comfortable. The cab warmed slowly.

"Luciel," the gunman murmured after another minute.

"Yes?" I urged, my heart suddenly pounding. 

"Thank you." It wasn't what I'd hoped... but he pulled me towards him, and teasingly I kissed him again and again, until I made him moan.

The sun rose as gilded mist faded into diamond blue sky.

---------------

**Author's Notes**: Yes, yes, I know... very sappy indeed. And lemony-fresh, perhaps? But in either case... I wanted to continue this chapter to something 'more' but I thought it better to leave that out for now and move on with the rest of the story... Which, by the way, will probably piss you people off but... I hope not!! Let's just say, all good things must come to an end...


	7. Vincent

A/N: VERY HEAVY Yaoi here! Lemon, everything..the works! Not too much, though... They get a little more private time together... and yes, I will get back to the story after this chapter. Theatre's cliffhanger kept bothering me, so I wrote this to keep you readers interested... I know, I know you hate me because I pulled the Lemon Card...I'm sorry! Hee.. (PS, Flame me and you'll recieve no such thanks from me, you narrow-sighted meanies!!)

---------

Vincent stood nearby next to me, bartering with the Midgar gate guard. The guard didn't rightly know we were wanted men, but caution was always best. Right at this moment, my saviour was trying to allow us passage to the road to Kalm, a village far beyond Midgar's clutches by the sea.

I was freezing my wee balls off when finally the guard sucked in his gut. "God damn it," he said in a resigned fashion. "Fine! Just get out of my sight. I don't care what you're in for, just get the hell away from me before I get scalded by the president."

Vincent nodded, unsmiling and unfriendly but spoke in a confidential tone. "You won't be discredited on my account, soldier. I understand what a terribly boring job this must be... I apologize."

"Geez... for a Turk, you sure are damned polite."

Vincent motioned to me. Obediently, I followed and uttered gratefully my thanks also to the soldier who had given Vincent such a rotten time.

As we walked out, the city towers growing more visible as we ventured from the plate, I asked Vincent, "Why didn't you just shoot the man?"

Vincent never lost a beat, speaking in a decidedly harsh tone. "Because I have enough blood on my hands. Because ShinRa would have eventually heard about it and sniffed our trail sooner, and because he was only doing his job."

Ouch. Stupid question extraordinaire, yep, that's me. I issued a shaky breath and trotted to catch up with him, glad to have the sun spill full upon us now that we were free of the shadow of Midgar. "Wait a minute," I called loudly. "Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Then why are you so... bitchy?"

"It's nothing."

Then why did I still have the feeling that he was ignoring me? Or avoiding me? I grew frantic... it was such a shame that after being a prostitute for such a long time, being shunned and scorned like a dog who overstayed his visit still hurt me. Especially the particular way Vincent did, although he might have just been trying to formulate new plans of avoiding Shinra.

The land around us was eerily silent, so I didn't say anything. I felt the weight of the gun in the waistband of my jeans and brooded quietly the reason for Vincent's discontent. And not minutes after we'd first stepped into the sun and walked, a vicious fur-covered mammal threw itself at me from a ledge from my right shoulder. I was too slow, pivoting on my foot and reaching for my gun at the split second when the full force of the beast hit me.

I crashed down onto the ground, smothered by the savage beast. The musk of its fur was sickening, smelling like old furniture and older blood. I couldn't angle the muzzle of the gun into its stomach, or keep its muzzle away from my throat and dimly I heard the ring of gunshots. A spray of hot liquid spilled onto my shirt and the animal squealed in dismay, staggering to one side.

As it made room to recover itself from the holes expelling pints of fresh blood, Vincent fired a third shot to its head and it fell dead to the ground.

I rubbed my cheek, grimacing at the feeling of blood. Then another beast waited, standing and watching its fallen comrade with a mixture of animal shock and feral hunger. For dead meant meat, always in the world of the wild.

Without hesitating I raised my gun and fired at it. The bullets pelted into the lip of the cliff beneath its feet, sending the beast skittering backwards franticly at the peculiar event, before fixing its eyes on me. It launched itself then, teeth open, long tail streaming behind it like a banner.

It looked like a mixture between a huge sewer rat and a wild dog. Its gums and tongue were spotted black, contrasting sharply with sharp pearly white teeth. It was a ruddy brown color with patches of fur missing, and a number of scars from fighting with its pack mates. I watched it in dull amazement as it fell toward me, until my trigger finger found the feeling in it again and I fired, watching blood mist from every shot. The animal was dead seconds before it hit the ground.

Vincent stepped up behind me, disturbing a few pebbles. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his shoe and I was tempted to reach out and grab onto it, as though it would lend me the burst of strength I needed to get up. Instead I took a deep breath, and staggered back to my feet.

"Are you alright?" Vincent asked softly, resting a hand on my back to steady me. The concern gave me more comfort than I had hoped.

"I think so. I haven't lost any digits or anything, have I?" I raised my hands for him to check, and for a second he smiled. It felt good to see him smile. Even better, I was waiting for him to embrace me.

But he didn't.

* * * * *

Kalm village. It was a slice of nervous heaven by the ocean. The pub was buzzing with rumors about something happening in ShinRa...but it didn't bother me in the least. All I cared about was getting to that inn and perhaps getting some shuteye. With Vincent, if possible.

With more ammunition and curative tinctures to bring along the way, we retired to the inn with barely enough to sleep at the inn with. I slid my hands over the front of my shirt after taking off my jacket and enjoyed the warmth as it rolled itself underneath my clothes and clung there, making me at once drowsy and rather horny.

Vincent stood behind me. I should have known better, but I had no complaints when he tucked his body against my back and pressed his hands to my stomach. I gasped a little, and shivered while his lips toyed with the tender nerves along my neck. 

He breathed out. The breeze weakened me at once. Before I could sink to the floor his arms tightened and brought me resting against his lean thigh so I wouldn't be sliding to my arse on the rug.

After a few moments he started to sit down, bringing me with him until we both were seated on the oriental rug in front of the fireplace. Chest to shoulderblade, I could feel him breathing and right now it wasn't as calm and as collected as his actions were.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked me with concern, for I was now nestled against his stomach and chest, between his sprawled out legs. His arms hung loosely around my waist, while his left thumb continuously rubbed my hip through my jean. 

I wished it would stop. I wanted to scream and turn myself around, attack his mouth. It wasn't as cold... the heat penetrated my skin and drove my desire bloody crazy. "I'm fine."

I could almost hear Vincent smile. We sat together on the rug for a longer time, my head eventually dropping back against his shoulder. Then his hands rubbed along my sides, making my hips buck slightly. The moan that came out of me sounded like a whore's moan and I felt at once ashamed of it.

"You need to relax," Vincent told me. "Turn over."

"What?"

He pushed me gently. I had no choice but to obey, turning over onto my stomach, and wherever my back went, his stomach followed and he sat on me, his hands shoving my shirt up and fingers, calloused by gunslinging and time, kneading against the most exquisitely tense muscles on my shoulders as they brushed over them like Orpheus playing his harp.

I wanted him to do me. It was stronger than making out with him in the truck, a stronger desire than talking to him in his living room, or watching him read a book.

My eyes stung. The desperation and need grew so strong, I cried because it felt impossible that Vincent would get to it. As a result, I couldn't quite relax, even when he asked me to relax a bit.

"It hurts!" I blurted out, when he leaned close to try and see my face. "Vincent, please, you just--"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Vincent hissed. He slid off, pulling me onto my back where he kissed my face. His hand pushed against my stomach, to my groin and I bucked weakly to it. He bent his face to mine and his tongue touched the corner of my tight-lipped mouth.

"Kiss me," he commanded breathlessly, kissing my cheek and mouth again until I relented. I suckled his tongue greedily, because he tasted like sugar and everything I loved about tasting him.

I pulled free, gasping as he watched my face with a calm, curious expression. I felt his hand, slowly pulling my jeans away and gently brushing my throbbing flesh. I'd waited for it so long, almost too long to have him openly touch me.

I cursed in a shaky voice, appreciative noises squeaking past my throat. I moved my leg aside for his benefit as well as mine, alarmed by the sudden kiss that attacked my shoulder. He listened to me, senses tuned to everything I did and every sound I made while he bit and suckled my baby-soft flesh in between his teeth. And throughout, he was calm and collected, as though he'd been trained for love-making, too.

I squirmed slightly, opening my eyes and breathing his name, and tears burning again. I swore I wouldn't be able to hold it any longer the way he watched me, rocking against me while his palm groped. 

"Vincent--" I began as a terrible thought hit me. What about him!? I felt selfish, but he put a free hand against my mouth and shook his head. The action itself, coupled with the sudden increase of pressure, the subtle rake of his finger across the ultimate point drove me writhing and struggling, trying to thrust and prolong but he pinned me, restricting much of my actions and forcing me to cry out viciously into his hand.

Fire coiled itself like a snake in my gut, and then spread like fireworks, burning and setting everything to a restless fury. I sagged against the floor, panting and shivering like a spent runner. 

"Luciel," Vincent murmured as he released me slowly, kissing me softly.

"I love you," I whispered, wiping my eyes clean of tears. "I love you, Vincent!"

He made a sound I wasn't sure to make of, a thoughtful, indecisive sound as he hugged me, pressing his face to my shoulder. Our hug was tight and yet somehow precarious, and... that, plus the fact he didn't return my vocally professed feelings, I was afraid.


	8. By Firelight

Author's Notes: Giving the circumstances of this chapter, I am rather proud... read and enjoy! I love Vincent and Luke... they really ought to be together..but since this is kind of angsty...I'm afraid this story will end quite soon.

--------------------------

The lights in the bar are dim. They grow farther away. I guess I'm being thrown out. A sack of useless, alcohol-weighted stinky clothes. Not really. An inkling though that perhaps I may need a bath later.

I stand up. It's almost dawn right now. I walk the streets. I have no more alcohol to feed the pain in me, so I am growing number by the second. I'm not intoxicated enough to throw up. Somehow my body can take it well, despite my complaining nerves earlier.

My memories keep flowing, steadily. It's not a couple days after Vincent quite honestly molested me, the all too willing captive, on the Inn's finely crafted carpet...

* * * * *

The Inn was rather dull that night. The lamps burned away the hours, standing like bright, but bored sentinels. I watched him become restless as a cougar, pacing the room. It was difficult to read his actions lately, as he reminded me of someone different at one moment before my charming little Vincent returned. I was tolerated in bed beside him... but that wasn't all, entirely. As if sensing my need for company Vincent would creep toward me, hooking one arm around my waist and drawing me close, as if to reassure me he was there. Or maybe he was reassuring himself.

"We've been here a week. Obviously they should have found us out by now," he said for no reason, cocking his head slightly, eyes focused on the window.

"Honestly, man, if you want to leave town, we can. It's not like we have to stay here forever. Besides, I'm getting a little nervous with you pacing like a--" I bit the sentence off. My legs were folded. I sat in the large armchair beside the door, a pistol sitting beside me on the coffee stand, safety on and unloaded. "Anyway... you'd kill anyone who walked up those stairs with the intention of taking us anywhere. Or shooting us."

The Turk made a ninety-degree turn, away from the window and toward me. He always carried a gun on him. It was a wonder how he managed to keep bullets, since he'd spent most of them in recent battles. I was wondering just how I had bullets, kept in a specialized pistol clip in my pocket. It's weight was now growing familiar. Vincent insisted I start carrying a gun, too.

"Where would we go?" he said, looking irritated. "But that will have to wait. I've decided we're going to leave in about an hour."

"What?!" 

"They won't expect it, since it's such a short decision. News of us may already be within the President's grasp and troops could arrive shortly. It's a mistake to have stayed so late. Leave as much as you can behind, or burn it."

Grumbling, I stood up slowly. I was barely recovered from our ordeal with the wolves. I wasn't ready to really fight more. But I figured if he was there, it would be good, safe practice in the wide wilderness. The thought of getting attacked by those dogs made my muscles twinge a little. I began packing. Small stuff. I utilized some belts I picked up at the local junk store, making sure I had enough pouches to carry the potions Vincent had paid for. It was going to be a damned long trip, from the looks of our equipment. I holstered the pistol. It was small, rather pitiful, compared to Vincent's elegant weapon.

The moment we stepped outside, I knew it was going to be a very arduous pain in the ass journey from here to Billy's Chocobo Farm, several miles through a canyon and across the plains after that. How could I tell? It was cloudy. A thick splattering drop of rain smacked me in the nose. Luckily I had somewhat of protection from the rain. Vincent didn't seem to care as he set out, long strides carrying him round-about the town entrance and along the river that snaked its way into the ocean-side mountains to our left.

By the time we were 300 yards away it was already pouring. I yanked the hood up over my face and struggled to keep up in the all enraged downpour, sloshing up to my ankles in muck and wet grass. I sneezed. I had never left Midgar before my journey with Vincent... and I'd soon find out exactly what 'allergies' meant.

Instead of encountering wolves, we encountered what Vincent identified as little grassy bastards. I didn't remember what they were called, only recalling the annoying fact that only magic truly worked against them - and magic was quite limited, even to a specialized Turk such as Vincent. He preferred his weapons at any rate. We ran from the plant creatures more than fought them. 

Occasionally we came across chocobos, standing miserably in the rain with one foot tucked up against their bodies, as though loathing water and wishing to keep their feet as dry as possible. The sight wasn't short of humorous, and if they startled one by accident it squawked agitatedly and moved to a drier, less inhabited spot.

"Hey, look... it's Shinra! Look at that fat one over there... scowling. Doesn't he look like the President?" I pointed out, shivering and chuckling. Vincent did see. I almost saw a smile. Almost...

From above came the most horrible scream. It made me think: something's hungry, and it's probably seen us.

"Time for practice," Vincent said tonelessly, gun in hand, turning his eyes skyward. I followed suite, although with the rain falling so heavily into my eyes it was nigh impossible to see anything above.

But it was soon clear. The rain thankfully abated before the winged creature fell toward us, claws extended, three-foot beak clamped tight and sharp to pierce one of us through the middle. I was shooting, not letting myself freak out, refusing, as anger and instinct rose into my throat and made it silent. My shots diverted the giant bird of prey enough for me to quickly splash out of its path. The wings snapped open tightly, carrying it skimming over the wet grass before it banked upwards again, squealing angrily.

Vincent's impeccable aim followed it, not waiting but firing rapidly until the four gunshots fell into memory. The bird's carcass was pretty good. I realized, looking at it with a small nervous smile, that I considered it to be food. But Vincent's actions, his silence told me that I shouldn't be so careless. The moment I turned around, another enemy was swooping towards us. Vincent sent a bullet between its eyes, a fatal blow on the bird's part. (Alas, poor fowl, we shall eat you up later since you were such a pain!)

That seemed to be the end of them. I strode cautiously to the first dead over-sized parakeet and nudged it with my shoe. I twitched. I kicked it again, right in the neck, hearing the bones break. It made me sick... but it pleased me. "One kick for trying to kill us... and another kick because one of us is a hot guy."

"It all depends on who you're talking about," Vincent said very quietly, just behind my ear. I gasped, jumping backward and right into his chest, where both arms locked around my waist instantly. Trapped, I shook a little, knowing how far away he was from sending his chilling kisses down my neck. But he let go of me, stating, "We're almost there."

"Did... did I do alright?"

"You were wonderful, Luciel." His voice was sincere. Instant heat bloomed from north to south, filling me up. I wanted to grab him to me. Something about being praised made me want to jump for joy, or grin like an idiot. Why shouldn't I be proud? 

* * * * *

That night in particular was also a favorite. Not only did it stop raining but the temperature rose as the sun went down. We camped out on a high space underneath a tree, cleared away a place for a fire pit, and roasted the large bird monster over it with zealous hunger. While Vincent cooked, I was standing in the tall grass in the failing light, my back warmed by the feeling of the fire behind me. I was going to the bathroom, and as I finished up Vincent called me over to the fire. I wanted to practice shooting, but didn't want to waste any bullets.

I sank down into the makeshift bedroll. Somehow there was only one. Was Vincent thinking things I thought him incapable of? I ran my hands through my hair, longing for a brush. I was comfortable just sitting next to him.

His dark hair was tinged reddish in the light. I stared. I reached out, touched his hair. He blushed, very faintly, his face turned down toward the sand while my fingers brushed away his hair long enough to see him smile again. I didn't ask him why he was smiling. It didn't matter what made him happy, though it burned me that I didn't know.

I reached closer, leaning against his arm. His skin was cool and smooth, like tempered silk. I wanted to touch it more. I gave him his space instead. 

We roasted the giant bird the night through. When it was done, I was dumb and impatient and dug in, burning my fingers on hot grease. I cursed profusely for ten minutes until my piece had cooled and so had my burning flesh. I ate more carefully, believing the giant fowl to be the best thing ever tasted in the universe. Not that synthetic shit they fed you in Midgar, or the crap they grow up on the Plate where scientists pump the animals so full of crap you don't really know what you're eating.

"My so-called parents never took me camping. Either they were dead or something... Hell, I don't want to get into it," I started pathetically.

"Then don't."

I leaned back, my stomach burbling and churning with delight. Vincent's was less enthusiastic. I'm sure my belly was louder than his. "This is nice. I kind of like being outside... I'm sure these bugs are supposed to piss me off. But, hell, they're not. Couldn't care less, right? Did you camp much?"

"Occasionally. Forced out of my home, once. Before my... job."

"Where do we go... after this?"

"Fort Condor maybe, if they'll recieve us. If not, we'll attempt to reach Corel and bunk in with them. They're rebels; they hate Shinra almost as much you do, maybe much more."

"But... what you gonna tell them about you?" I bit my cheek, thinking about Mt. Condor. That was all the hell through the caves... but before that, the marsh with the Midgar Zolom. We needed a chocobo to outrun that thing. How was he going to convince dear ol' Bill to lend us one?

"...We'll tell them some other name. That Vincent Valentine is dead." His voice was flat, and his eyes became almost black. Something about that statement made my guts shiver. I shut my eyes against it, wondering once again where his dark smile went, how deeply buried in his conviction he was. 

_That Vincent Valentine is dead._


	9. Capture

Author's Note: Winding up this story is harder than I thought! But the adventure is only beginning. For this, too, I think will have a sequel. For not only will Luciel NOT have an angsty, lonely little ending, I will make sure has lots more opportunities to kiss his wuverboy.

----------------------------------

We were running, shooting behind us occasionally. I wanted to stay close to Vincent but he instructed me to stay a space away from him. That was, if either one of us was shot, then I could throw him a potion we picked up from a monster or run to defend him while he did so himself. It wasn't long until we reached the open Chocobo prairie, where the wild birds ran free and happy.

This method of fighting was good. We fought off monsters as we went, racking up the cash that fell out of their gullets. I felt my sickness at murder going away. I thought of it as getting points. I was hitting my intended targets a lot more than usual. Vincent hit nearly every time. One instance provided me insight into his mind. He had missed on account of there being too much sun, even if he could shoot a can against the sun in broad daylight. It was possible there was something else... but he kept on, and it didn't matter whether he missed or not as he still killed the monster that fell down upon us out of the blue and smacked into the earth like a wet bag of potatoes.

The house was only over the next hundred yards. Every chocobo we saw almost always shrieked in their warble-speech manner prior to dashing away with all due birdie speed. They mingled with the monsters, occasionally, maybe thinking they'd be safe. Then we'd kill the monsters and during the melee, the large yellow beasties ran once more.

I assumed we probably did look pretty scary, guns all a-blaze with murder in our eyes. Poor things. I think one of them had a heart-attack, rest its soul.

The house was quite quaint. A large fenced-in area in the front yard waited for us. There was a single scrawny bird standing all alone in the grass, pawing at the ground and picking at the grasses it deemed nutritional. When we came close it lifted its head and peeped conversationally, before trotting to the edge of the fence and following us on our journey to the front door.

Waiting for us there, beside a dozing old fart in a rickety wooden chair with a bottle of liquid in one hand, was his equally old, decrepit dog which looked up from both gnarled paws and gave us the canine once-over, lips curling slightly in what appeared to be a grimace of displeasure.

I tapped my foot, standing in the shade that was cast by the roof and the building itself. It was good to be out of the damn sun. Sweat made my shirt stick to my armpits and it was irritating the shit out of me.

"Uh, old man?" I asked, clearing my throat. A fly buzzed by the old guy's ear. He didn't budge an inch. I stepped close to Vincent, feeling my blood chill as anxiety trickled into my veins. "Jesus, is he dead or something?"

"I don't think so. I can see him breathing," the gunman relied. He motioned to the stables and began in that direction. When we got inside, it was cool and the hot, living smell of chocobos filled my nostrils. I think I... liked it. It was good. I breathed deep and sought refreshment from the cool, wild air. I loved the atmosphere in her. Something exotic and sensual came over me. I pressed my hand to the wooden wall of a nearby cubicle and let my eyes wander from stall to stall until they rested on Vincent, who stood, watching me.

His eyes were sad, but passionate. I wished I could have spent a little more time with him.

There were guns clicking from seemingly everywhere. Something was wrong from the start, and all of my contentment vanished like a hot dream from pre-teen days. I felt the cold chill of metal on my neck when the murderers materialized from the cool, sweet-smelling shadows. I saw Vincent duck and whip his pistol out like a badass western hero. His arm crumpled underneath an almost bone-breaking kick from a Turk that emerged from the side.

I strained against my captor. I couldn't waste time watching. But even I as kicked the man in the balls and heard his amusing high-pitched squeal, there was another man nearby, who knocked me in the temple with the butt of his electricity-crackling rod. I crumpled like a piece of paper.

"Too bad you didn't notice the dart in the old man's back. Otherwise you could've gotten away from us one last time."

This is the redhead, speaking over my shoulder. I realized just how far we've come, only to get fucked over in a goddamn chocobo stable. What a sad piece of shit luck for me. I tensed, restless beneath the rage and embarassment and helpless captivity under which I was kept. I felt the flaming red-head's fingers on my neck as he grabbed my shirt and searched my belt. I felt his groping touch wander too my groin, way too many times, until he plucked the gun from my pants waistband.

My vision blurred. Everything felt wrong still. I strained to see Vincent. I couldn't get a good look of him, but he was being man-handled by a big bald guy. And my hands refused to do what I wanted them to.

"Reno," Vincent mumbled with a testament of murder in his voice.

The redhead behind me coolly replied, "Vincent." He chuckled. "Got the hots for the manwhore, don't you? That's too bad! I thought you were married to your work... I guess it takes more than guns and murder to give you a hard-on, doesn't it? I'm proud!"

"Let him go," I mumbled, only to get smacked again. The electric end of Reno's stick caught me upside the shoulder and I yelped like a puppy. I was on my knees now, and I felt Reno crouch down behind me, his hand against my back... creeping lower--

"...Say, I wonder if he's got the infamous talents of a Midgar slut?"

Bubbling poisonous chuckles arose from the watching Turks as Reno's hand pushed its way down the back of my pants. _Jesus, he's going to fucking rape my ass. Please, God, no... _

Intruding, rough finger caressed my skin, enjoying the feel of it, undoubtedly pleased at how tame I was. I was used to getting groped, but not in front of Vincent. I bucked suddenly, throwing my weight back, and snarling like a wild cat as I aimed my elbow for his throat. I choked him, sending him sprawling back in the straw while I dove forward, grabbing my gun from the ground and shot the knee of one in my sights. He squealed like a pig and fell sideways, while I scrambled forward, only to be grabbed by the belt and launched upside down by another burly Turk.

I roared my outrage, squirming and not caring that my pants were probably half-falling off now. I saw Reno get up, clutching his throat, while his eyes were about as red as his hair. He flicked his hand out, gripping the electro-rod and turning it in his hand slowly. He burned of sadism. I cringed, feeling my arms pinned against the other man's chest as he held me loose. My pants inched down around my hips. In two seconds they'd fall to my ankles in a useless heap.

Reno's nose was an inch from mine. One hand disappeared between us. I suddenly found myself several inches off the ground as he yanked my pants up and practically gave me a wedgie. "Let's get these two back home before the president has a stroke, boys."

So, folks.

It was a round trip to hicksville and back, taking a free ride on the jazzy Turkmobile with our many new pals, including Reno the Jerk Off and Burly Rude Guy. We bounced around on the uneven road in our tiny buggy and took stock of our situation as we pulled in back through the gates of Midgar, a.k.a. Hell.

We weren't getting away. Vincent was suffering a bloody nose and I, well... I was plopped in the lap of luxury with Reno's arm around my shoulders and his booze-stinking breath in my face. I wanted to vomit all over his rumpled, fancy faggot suit.

Now, we stood under the weight of prosperity, taking a Militia Access Only elevator to the upper world. It was just me, Rude, Vincent, and my personal buddy Reno, riding the glass coffin into heaven. Or, to be more precise, my worst nightmare.

The paved streets were pretty tough under our feet. Reno had my handcuffed - and was mighty happy about it, too - while Rude manhandled the 6 foot beauty, Vincent. I tried to get his eyes to find mine, but to no success. I breathed a heavy sigh, pushed through another set of doors after being pushed around a dozen streets. By the time we reached the ShinRa Headquarters' lobby, my feet were sore and one shoe had come untied.

Up another elevator, into another glass coffin. This was the time to consider when and how the hell I was going to escape - preferably with Vincent. Somehow I wanted to speak to him, but I was afraid to talk. Besides, Reno was doing plenty of talking for all of us.

I wished he'd shut up.

"--gonna love the food they serve. I like the secretaries, such fucking babes, I could screw them all in one night in the same bed--"

Is this some kind of cruel and unusual punishment? To make me listen to this bullshit for the rest of my ShinRa HQ tour of the week?

I seriously began to taste bile, like a cold finger running up my throat like someone just jammed a steel rod up my esophagus. Something was seriously wrong. My vision blurred a little as we marched down steel corridors, which turned jaggedly to a line of doors on either side. Vincent was shoved into one, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of his eyes. The last glimpse I would see for months to come.

And then I, too, would be in darkness.

The first moments of pain that night came when I felt fingers peel themselves into my hair, like a pitchfork into a load of hay. I envisioned Reno there, grabbing onto me and purring to himself. And in that vision I remembered all the men who had taken advantage of me over the years, and when I saw Reno in my mind, he carried their faces instead of his own.

But this man was different. Already I could tell, because for one thing, he smelled different. Not necessarily better - he was like a hospital embodied in one guy. And I could see that his eyes flashed in the dark, probably tell-tale sign of glasses. His fingers caressed all along my scalp. My neck tingled. My insides churned the moment that his serpent's tongue formed words.

"So you're the one... that Vincent looks after so well. I'm sure you won't disappoint me."

His hands fell on my shoulders, and pulled me by my shirt, which was already coming loose from so many guys yanking me around in one day. But was I about to let this freak start molesting me in the dark? No way. Not without a good brawl, anyway.

I shot my knee out blindly in the dim hope that it would connect with something vulnerable. It cracked against the inside of his hip, but that was enough to startle him out of his little fantasy for another second. I thrust both hands out, pushing against his chest and throwing him back several steps, and before I knew what I was doing I was running blindly for the bold of light that was my salvation. I heard the man shout, and hard boots were thundering after. I ran anyway, as fast as I could.

"You blundering moron!" a man screamed. "I told you it would be safer if you left him alone! He's gonna get away!"

"No, he won't," the other man replied smoothly, and a tad bit irritated as well. "There are about a thousand soldiers in this building alone, plus the robots. Do you think he can possibly escape without any keycards?"

No sooner did he reveal this tidbit of information as I rounded a slightly familiar corner did I smash headfirst into a young woman with dark black hair and green eyes. "Shit! Will you watch where you're going?" I cried, as though I also were some employee in a tremendous hurry.

And I swept by her, snatching a keycard out of her skirt pocket with little less than a snort of satisfaction. Some people are so ridiculously blind.


	10. Epilogue

Author's Notes: Angsty ending, sort of. But it's only for awhile. There's naught in this but more love, more adoration and simple fluff toward the end. A bittersweet horizon... a fleeting dream come true... can Luciel handle it? (okay...this Epilogue BARELY does the story any justice. I'm seriously considering doing some revisions, now that this is done.)

------------------------

**Epilogue:**

The Honeybee Inn is running high on business. I don't know if it's because of the chaos lately, or because people are finding it easier to escape into their own perverted fantasies. I stand a respectable distance away from its clenching jaws, knowing full well once this sort of place has hold, it will absolutely detest the idea of letting go.

There's no way I'd let myself slip into Hell again. I turn away, because the sight of women depresses me, and the sight of men makes me sick. I can't look a man or woman straight in the face without feeling sick to my stomach. I told my story, so there's no need for me to stay. I'm done drinking. I have reached an acceptable state of numbness through which I can see nothing, yet see everything with a sort of selective vision. I only see what I choose to.

There's only so much destruction a man can take. Somehow, deep in the mind, a wall crumbles. Your strength wanes. But something makes you keep going, spinning down the toilet of self-annihilation until you feel it's time to lay down your weapons and let the train run over you, again and again.

I only have to recall what Vincent said to me to remember why I'm out here. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to go visit the Honeybee Inn, let some other pair of eyes and soft hair make me forget. But I could never forget... not even after a handful of years...

_When I tried to come back, you were gone._

There were only a handful of papers I snatched up from the lab area. I disguised myself as another lab assistant, making my slow way with my stolen keycard into the forbidden maw of the beast. I saw the teeth and machines casting forbidden shadows that spilled across the room like sprawling demons, each one a new terror of torture like something out of a damn Frankenstein movie.

I found the humongous treasure trove of information almost by chance. I stared at the stolen keycard, my palms sweating so much I had to keep wiping them on my similarly filched labcoat. Hopeful, I slid the card through the slot, held my breath as the mechanism popped and crunched its unfathomable numbers before the light above the narrow line peeped green.

I flitted through them as fast as I could. I wasn't stupid, and I knew damn well how to read. I figured out that so much was going on in Nibelheim, a town so far away that it was unthinkable to get there, that I decided it was probably be best to go.

I never ended up in Nibelheim. It was going to be my destination before I met _him_ again.

Well...

I left the building, shucking my disguise with disgust as I found my way around the dark hollow streets, with my shoes clicking on the ground and bouncing the sound back almost seven times. It was incredilble - I was stuck in Midgar until I got my ass to Nibelheim to investigate all this crap. It seemed like no big deal, but the exodus would take me months if I was that lucky.

My heart hurt. I felt it in my chest, because I knew there was no way in hell that, according to those reports, he would be in that one place in the whole world. No. Vincent was dead. The brave Turk who had risked his life to save my scrawny, worthless butt was probably chopped up into a dozen pieces, with his brain probably elevated in liquid with needles poking out of it everywhere. All he was reduced to was a piece of superficial flesh and bone, lacking any trace of humanity that remained.

I _really_ hated to think of it in terms like that.

"Where am I going?" I wondered out loud. My tone was melancholy like the song of a lonely cat. I meowed. Then, grinning, I turned into an alley and bumped my nose into somebody's chest.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I spat, bubbling outrage at my misfortune and loneliness burning at me. "I got places to go and I don't have time to be raped in a fucking alley, you disgusting pi...eh...."

The snapping cloak made me hit hard on the breaks. A six foot tall demon stood in my way. Even in the darkness, I could tell his eyes not only 'were' red, but _glowed _as well. He wore a filthy crimson cape that fell well below his calves, and a solitary metal claw replacing his left arm. His hair was thick and black, and messy like he hadn't combed it in years. He was almost entirely in the shadows, with little else to tell me about him.

I staggered back. Something about the way this guy looked made me recoil with so much fear it wasn't even funny. He was a nightmare. Something out of a goddamn little kid story book, a boogey man to terrify little kids into good behavior.

"I'm sorry, man," I said quietly, tearing my eyes away. _ Hello, big, tall and creepy._

He didn't speak. Of course he didn't speak. But it pained me again, that he reminded me so much of Vincent. Then, at a closer inspection, while he took careful steps into the streetlight, I saw part of his face and from the shape of his eyes, I knew him for who he was.

My throat caught, and for a minute I just didn't want to believe it. It _hurt _to believe and put his name to this strange, dark face. Such torment didn't belong there. There was so much more pain than there ever was, and an uncaring dullness in his red eyes that could have decieved anyone. Anyone but me. They were gleaming inside.

Such a terrible price has been paid, but at what cost?

"It's you, Vincent," I said clearly, my voice distant and echoing from the lights to the very center of the city. I lowered my voice, stepping close again. I reached out to touch him, but he shied away. "What's wrong? I looked for you, and I..." I realized how different I would have sounded.

But my identity wasn't lost to him. "I... appreciate your efforts. But I'm afraid it's too late. For both of us."

"What kind of BS is that? It's not too late! I don't even know where you've been for so long! At least come back to my apartment! You just don't know how long I've been waiting to see you!! Jesus--"

Were my words wasted?

What was I trying to say? I missed out on so much with him... I felt my hands clench and my insides quiver, that everything I loved about Vincent was annihilated underneath the crush of time that had gone by. I refused to let that be true. I wanted to hear his story, no matter how horrific, uncensored or long-winded. I just wanted to hear his goddamn voice again, the way it used to be, when he spoke to me as a companion during our short-lived adventure.

He didn't move. He just stared at me, his eyes turning softer, before a chilling emptiness came into them.

"Come back to my apartment," I repeated, shoving my hands into my pockets, trying to smile when I wanted to cry. "Talk to me. Get you some coffee, at least, maybe a plate of spaghetti?"

"Luciel," he interrupted tentatively.

"Vince...?"

I stop walking and look up at the stars. I'm standing just outside my apartment. I'm deeply tired, the kind of tired that won't let you try walking up the stairs to your door when you probably could do it. I don't feel like walking another step, but somehow I make it to the stairwell in my home and slowly lower myself to the steps, curling up and smelling the heavy sanitizer and cleaner the land-lord uses occasionally to get the stenches of urbanization eliminated.

This sector of Midgar survived, only for a little while. I think people are leaving, though. Of the four apartments in this beaten-up building, I'm the second person who actually lives here. The other is an elderly couple with too much affection for their numerous cats. I can barely smell the stench of the felines' existence from down here.

I keep my place pretty clean. Spruced it up. Given myself something to be proud of, which is lots of sheets, clean clothes, dishes and silverware and enough food to last me for the next two weeks. The only thing keeping me from leaving is the lack of transportation and duffle bags. I have no damn dufflebags!

My last thoughts as I close my eyes, and get ready to drown myself in the darkness of sleeping Midgar, were _This is it - I'm done. I don't deserve the kind of love people make plays about... there's no script for making dreams come true. This is my last act, but I ain't coming back for no curtain call._

_Light. Really burns my eyes. Why the hell can't I go to sleep and not wake up? Didn't I plan on just stayig passed out? I thought I'd drunk myself poisoned... guess I didn't drink hard enough._

Strange. That my grave is made of soft, familar substance and everything around me has a sort of Healthy Luke aroma. I open my eyes and blink again, staring through my window. Ancient movie-clip fragments of my evening play back at me in reverse. Bar. Misery. Some drinking. More misery. Memories.

Then I feel a piece of paper in my hand and I slowly come to alertness. My head is pounding. The pain is more real and thus demands more attention as I taste the bile of alcohol in the back of my throat. I check my sheets. Certain that I haven't made a total and complete mess of them, I roll over onto my back, outfitted in just shorts and the shirt I wore to the bar last night.

I lift the paper to my nose. I smell it. Naturally, I can't smell a damn thing yet but it feels good to just breathe in. Exhale. Breathe. Sigh. I don't know where it came from. I'm compelled, however, to peel it open and take a bleary-eyed gander.

_'Luciel,_

_Our time is not forgotten. I have led a complex existence, and now I am lost in the darkness of my newest situation. Something inside me wishes me to forget, but something deeper will always make me remember and suffer every moment that I have ever hurt anyone. While I linger on the first sin I ever committed, I lose sight of everything I still have. And I still have you. It hurts so much, Luciel. I feel the pain of her death every day, along with the thrill of your passion and your zealous personality. I see two paths before me - and very little to go by on which to choose._

_I saw you sleeping in your apartment vestibule and took it upon myself to take you to your apartment. No doubt, yours is the cleanest one. I couldn't stand seeing you like that. It doesn't suit you. You don't frown when you sleep. You once mentioned that I tend to frown when I sleep... perhaps you're right. But my nightmares are not for telling now._

_Don't go to your pubs, thinking I hate you. I don't love you, Luciel... but I adore you in the way that I adore something strange and unusual, something that blesses my bleak darkness. A spark of light that has the hope of turning into the blazing fire that will light the emptiness in my soul._

_That said, Luciel, you will undoubtedly see me again. I am changed. But not undone. Nothing shall undo me, but the hopeless fascination for you._

_-V.'_

My eyes burn. Tenseness in my chest and throat. My headache seems to disappear for a moment, possibly to return later tenfold. But I've got the letter. I got the words and while I'm blinking at my foolish tears like an idiot, they're burning themselves permenantly into my mind and most importantly my heart. I recall every single word even though I've folded the letter up again. I breathe deep, realizing he was here and he cared enough to put me to sleep properly.

I brush my hands through my hair. Had he touched my face in silent wonder and marveled at the strangeness of me? I burned to think that I slept through being carried upstairs, like when I was a clumsy amatuer actor in a clown suit, and he a morose agent heavensent, and fallen...

Straight out of an old-style theatre.


End file.
